It's hard not to hate; people, things, institutions, when they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed. Hate is the only feeling that makes sense, but I know what hate does to a man: tears him apart, turns him into something he's not, something he promised himself he'd never become. That's what I need to tell you to let you know how hard I'm trying not to cave under the weight of all the awful things I feel in my heart. Sometimes my life feels like a deadly balancing act, when I feel slamming up against what I should do, impulsive reactions racing to solutions miles ahead of my brain. When I look at my day, I realize that most of it was spent cleaning up the damage from the day before. In that life I don't have a future, all I have is distraction and remorse. I buried my best friend three days ago. As cliche as this sounds I left part of me in that box. Part I barely knew, Part I never see again. Everyday is a new box boys, you open it and take a look at what's inside. You're the one who determine if it's a gift or a coffin.